Kinktober '25 - Volume 2

Disclaimer: These stories contain adult themes. They are not suitable for minors or the easily offended.

https://linktr.ee/spartacuswrites

This is a collection of flash fiction based on daily prompts.

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Kinktober '25 - Volume 2

11 - Breath
Snorkel (Hyper)

12 - House
Amy has a ‘friend’ over to her haunted house (WG)

13 - Fire
A specialty dancer has a wardrobe malfunction (BE)

14 - Night
Werewolf (BE)

15 - Plastic
After a breakup, a woman’s coworker takes her to Club Lavender (Boobs)

16 - Clock
A mysterious woman who only appears for one night every four years (BE)

17 - Appetizer
One of Claire’s followers takes her out for dinner (BE)

18 - Dice
A woman lets fate decide how much she grows (BE)

‌20 - Beef
A woman worried about her weight makes a drastic change to her diet (BE)

21 - Pilot
A mech pilot comes out of retirement (WG)

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Kinktober prompt:
Breath

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 11 - Breath

“Mmph, mmm mmpf”

It had taken some time for Laney to warm to the idea of eating in bed. Even longer to do so during sex. But Dalia was so addicted to feeding her, to seeing her ridiculous tits grow bigger each day, that she had a hard time focusing on just one thing at a time. Even when Laney could still eat at the table, Dalia started crawling her tiny little self between Laney’s thighs to make sure she enjoyed mealtime as much as possible.

There’d been a significant size difference between them even before they met. Laney was only five-seven, but with half her bodyweight riding in an industrial-strength bra, she’d all but resigned herself to parasocial relationships online, certain that she’d never meet someone who wasn’t a complete freak.

Well, five-nothing, ninety-three-pound Dalia was certainly a freak, but when their mutual friend insisted on setting up a boob-crazy pixie with a nurturing kink with a hedonist who carried most of her weight in her chest, it was the proverbial “love at first sight.”

Laney’s bedbound boobs shifted, wobbling even further off the sides of the mattress as Dalia slithered her sweaty head up out of her cleavage. She beamed at Laney, but her tiny chest heaved as she took in big gulping breaths.

“Did you finish?”

Dalia’s mouth had brought her over the brink several times, so Laney nodded.

“I meant the donuts.” Dalia’s dommy expression never quite overcame the pure cuteness of her face, but it still worked on Laney.

She tilted the box to show her partner three eclairs remaining. Dalia smirked, squeezing herself through Laney’s tits to help her finish her bedtime snacks. Laney couldn’t help but notice, however, that her little Dalia was still breathing hard, and not just from arousal.

***

Dalia’s voice came from outside the bedroom. “There was a package outside—did you order something online?”

“Ooh, bring it in here!”

When Dalia carried a shoebox-sized package into the room, Laney bounced excitedly. The bedframe creaked, and her immobilizing breasts sloshed like a waterbed. “Open it, open it!”

Dalia stared at Laney’s perpetually moving body for a second, then used her key to rip into the box. Her eyebrows scrunched as she looked inside.

“Laney, what the hell is this?”

She pulled out a snorkel. Instead of a straight pipe, it was attached to a plastic tube over five feet in length.

“It’s for you!” Laney beamed.

“Are you saying you want to go to the beach?” She turned heavy-lidded eyes on Laney. “You want to see me in a bikini?”

Laney imagined hauling her gargantuan tits around in the sand, being gaped at by strangers, and traumatizing children. She shuddered.

“No, I hate the beach. I ordered that for you. So you can… breathe… in there.”

Dalia’s face went blank. Deer in the headlights.

Laney put one hand on each breast and pulled them apart. The motion didn’t achieve much—there was more tit that she couldn’t reach than could. She watched realization spread over Dalia’s face like a sunrise.

Dalia jumped onto the bed, making the frame creak even more. She handed the end of the tube to Laney. “Hold this.”

Dalia bit down on the mouthpiece and dove in.

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Kinktober prompt:
House

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 12 - House

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Amy gasped. “But you’re not a great personal trainer.”

Amy lay supine on her four-poster bed, the antique wood creaking as Reina shifted beside her. Tossing her head to shake her long black braid over one shoulder, the olive-skinned woman’s muscled limbs flexed as she slid a third finger into Amy.

She couldn’t see Reina’s right arm past the wobbling dome of her belly rising under her nose—though it had gotten far less wobbly since the PT arrived for their session three hours ago. A greedy whine escaped Amy as her hips tried to rise against Reina’s hand. Her legs and lower back flexed, but she was pinned to the bed by her overpacked stomach.

When Amy’s mouth fell open with another gasp, Reina stuffed an eclair between her teeth, making Amy bite off nearly a third of the large pastry.

“That too big bite,” Una muttered. “She choke.”

Reina ignored the fur-clad woman.

“I’ll have you know,” Reina said, hooking her fingers inside Amy while she fed her the rest of the eclair and reached for another. “I have a very high success rate… with clients who want to get fit.”

Amy whimpered and moaned, struggling between the gentle voice in her head saying she’d had more than enough and a much louder voice begging for more.

Watching from a nearby chair, Tiffany squeezed the tits and tummy that stretched her Smiths T-shirt with her other hand buried in her corduroy skirt. “Beauty standards are, like, part of the patriarchy, man.”

Another eclair pressed to her lips was all it took to keep Amy eating. Reina glanced at the two spirits, who clearly had not missed many meals when they were alive.

“Maybe it’s less a matter of what you want,”—Reina massaged Amy’s tight tummy before pulling another pastry from the box—“but simply a matter of listening to some bad influences.”

An affronted “tsk” came from the hallway behind Reina, where Mildred and Mrs. Benson hid in feigned disgust while peeking into the bedroom every few seconds.

Amy’s eyes popped open. She swallowed her mouthful of pastry. “Oh my god, are they in here?”

Amy reached fruitlessly to push away Reina’s hand, and she slid it out from the massive woman’s thighs. They’d lost the rhythm, now. Reina nodded with chagrin.

“Which ones?”

“It’s just Una and Tiffany, but the other two are hiding outside pretending not to watch.”

“We most certainly are not!” Mrs. Benson called.

“Get them out of here!” Amy huffed.

Reina looked from Una, who was fingering the edge of her fur loincloth, and Tiffany, red-faced and working herself over with desperate determination.

“You heard her, out.”

Tiffany whined, but Una simply shrugged. “Need more meat, anyway.”

“That goes for you, too,” Reina called to the hallway. “Why don’t you guys go watch TV?”

“You women,” Tiffany muttered.

Reina waited until the last noncorporeal voice faded down the stairs, then closed and locked the bedroom door. Amy stared blankly at the ceiling.

“Sorry,” Reina said.

“It’s fine.”

“Maybe next time I should just put on PornHub for them to watch.”

Amy snorted, then cradled her stomach with a wince. “Now who’s a bad influence?”

Reina climbed onto the bed, teasing the underside of Amy’s belly while she reached for the box of eclairs. “Speaking of bad influence… Think you’ve got room for a few more?”

Amy groaned.

“There’s only four left. You can do it, Ames, dig deep…”

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Kinktober prompt:
Fire

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 13 - Fire

A statuesque blonde stalked into the lingerie shop, a white paper bag clutched in one hand. A pretty brunette standing behind the counter looked up at her entrance with a vacant stare.

“Sandra, hi—“

“Is she in?” Sandra’s cover model features were flat. Betraying no overt emotion, her face was the most angry it had ever been inside New Lace.

“She’s working, do you want me to—“

Sandra was already pushing through the door.

***

“Alright gents—and ladies—let’s give it up for the one and only Lexi!”

Sandra scanned the edge of the stage, drinking in the sight of the crowd pressed tight together. Mostly men, but a handful of women, they gazed up at her with looks ranging from awe to skepticism, from curiosity to arousal. She did this for them, and they were here for her. The energy in the air was palpable as the club’s speakers pumped out the opening bars of a Sabrina Carpenter song.

***

A middle-aged woman looked up from a sewing machine as Sandra stormed into the back room.

“Sandra! How’s my favorite customer?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Kate; I’ve been better.”

“Oh no, what’s wrong?”

Sandra shook the paper bag in one hand. “This thing is defective.”

Kate’s face lost all its pleasantness. “My bras are not defective, Sandra.”

***

Sandra spun and strutted. She climbed the pole and slid down in a spiral. While Sabrina’s throaty, moaning vocals filled the smoky room, Sandra’s blouse grew tighter. Her buttons strained as she let her breasts slowly swell.

After a slow swooping turn, Sandra arched her back, pushing just enough size into her chest to send the centermost button sailing into the crowd. They whistled and cheered, tossing bills onto the stage. A thrilling warmth bloomed through her core at their praise. It wasn’t always like this, but she loved it when it was.

Continuing her dance, Sandra thrust her chest left and then right, sending more buttons arcing through the air. The flush of heat spread through her chest, and the sultry gaze she sent back to her fans earned her another wave of enthusiastic praise.

***

“Is that the pink one?” Kate asked. “Because that one’s supposed to come apart.”

Sandra fixed the seamstress with a flat stare. “I know that, Kate. I’m not an idiot. We came up with the idea together, remember?”

“Of course, I remember. So what’s the problem?”

***

Sandra had broken all the buttons she could break with her tits alone. She ripped the blouse open in a twirl and let it drift down to the stage. Clad only in an increasingly inadequate bra, Sandra shook and swayed, building to her grand finale.

Her body was on fire, pulsing waves rocking through her as she moved. It had never felt this good. Sandra almost missed a step as she imagined rushing back to her dressing room to finish herself off. Her neon pink bra was digging into her now, flesh spilling over as her breasts grew.

***

Taking the white paper bag in both hands, Sandra dumped its contents onto Kate’s table. A pile of grey-black ash spilled out of the bag with two curved wires and a few metal snaps.

Kate’s eyebrows rose. She picked through the pile with a finger, finding a few scraps of pink fabric. “I don’t understand.”

“It burst into flames, Kate!”

***

Sandra’s body was so hot—especially her chest—that she thought she might not even make it to her dressing room. She needed to get to the finale and get off the stage. Sabrina’s vocals hit the crescendo as Sandra arched her back one last time. She threw a burst of size into her tits to blow the snaps off her specially-made stage bra.

In a flash of smoke and flame, the bra exploded. The only thing that saved Sandra from getting burned was the immense pressure that sent the flaming undergarment flying off her chest.

Assuming her shocked expression was part of the act, Lexi’s fans went wild.

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Kinktober prompt:
Night

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 14 - Night

Ever since Cris moved in with her, Nala’s girlfriend had become a scholar of lycanthropy. Cris had few peers in the field, and there were certainly no accredited study programs, but she devoured every article and paper she could get her hands on. She tried to keep her research a secret, but Nala’s hyperactive senses were too difficult to fool.

Nala had to tell her, of course. They’d been together for over six months—moving in was the natural progression of their relationship—and coming out as a werewolf was the least concerning explanation for the soundproof cell in her basement.

What Nala hadn’t expected was for Cris to learn precisely how she maintained such a flawless figure. Five-ten, platinum blonde, toned limbs that Cris probably thought were for show until Nala lifted her onto her hips and carried them to bed. Nala knew she was hot—it was hard to find a were who wasn’t. It wasn’t vanity, merely an empirical fact. The closest thing Nala had to a complaint about her body was sometimes wishing her tits weren’t quite so big. Full and firm, they dominated her frame. Even in her thickest, baggiest winter coats, they stood out, demanding attention. And in the two years she’d been living with Cris, Nala’s breasts had only gotten bigger.

She hadn’t built the safe room to protect other people from the wolf, but to protect herself. Her wolf wasn’t interested in hunting or killing—only eating. And in the arcane science of lycanthropy, Nala’s human form stored the consequences of her wolf’s appetite in one place. Nala didn’t understand the science; it might as well have been magic, but somehow, Cris had figured it out.

***

In the pitch black of her saferoom, Nala couldn’t see the moon or even its glow. But she sensed it. Felt it. Beckoning, calling, drawing out that other side of her.

Pain.

Bones shifting, muscles rippling, fur pressing through her skin.

The cell is no longer dark. Nala sees every corner, every flaw in the masonry. No windows, no lights, but Nala sees the door. Heavy. Steel. Unbreakable.

Nala howls.

Her paws ache as she claws at the door. She wants out. She needs out. She is starving.

Nala hears a rhythmic thumping before the handle turns. A heartbeat, a pulse. Someone to let her out.

A human. Dark hair, loose shirt, a plump torso with meaty limbs. Saliva drips from her fangs, but Nala doesn’t eat raw meat. And this human is not food; she is her mate. Nala yips happily, slathering kisses on Cris’s cheeks.

Cris laughs, lets her out, sits her in a comfy chair. She has burgers, whole chickens, and boxes of cupcakes. Nala sits back and eats. She eats until she can’t eat any more, and then her mate feeds her until she falls asleep. She loves being a wolf.

***

With Cris’s legs over her shoulders, Nala kissed and sucked, teasing her partner with tongue and fingers and teeth. A burning pulsed down her sternum, and she paused to let it pass. Cris whimpered, but Nala went back to work, pushing her over the edge twice before gently laying her partner back on the mattress.

She crawled over Cris’s smaller body, lowering her heavy, bowling ball tits onto her chest. Cris’s shallow, panting breaths had her ready for her turn.

“Babe, can I make a request?” Nala purred.

“Anything.”

“Could you not feed her so much sugar? It gives me heartburn.”

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Kinktober prompt:
Plastic

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 15 - Plastic

Mel fought the urge to press fingers into her temples as she felt a headache brewing. She loved her “straight best friend,” but drowning a breakup at a strip club was his vibe, not hers.

“What’d I tell you?” Jack said, leaning into her ear to be heard over the blaring sound system. “This isn’t one of those trashy places out by the truck stop. It’s all bougie and shit.”

She admired the ease with which Jack code-switched. He could sell like Don Draper one minute and be a carefree college bro the next, like dragging her out to Club Lavender when he found out her two-month relationship with Ali had ended. Mel liked women, so of course, she’d enjoy a strip club. It made sense in a very male way, but Mel found it endearing, the closest thing to empathy she got in an office full of narcissists.

They found a table near the stage and Mel sipped her French 75. The gin was top shelf, but the champagne was not. She decided it was good that the drinks weren’t good enough for her to get drunk here; she had a whole case of imported Rosé—a gift from a client—waiting for her at home whenever she managed to escape Jack’s “kindness.”

A woman with Asian features gyrated on the stage, the shiny curtain of her hair glimmering in the multi-colored lights. She was definitely pretty, and Mel said as much.

“I thought you liked the curvy ones,” Jack said.

Mel shrugged. “Better small than fake.”

She gave the dancer some of Jack’s money—this was his idea, after all. The DJ’s gravelly voice announced the next dancer over the PA, a woman with the stage name Poppy.

Mel’s breath caught, and the club noise faded to a low hum as a goddess strutted out between the curtains. She half-recognized the song, something from the early teens, but her brain had fallen silent.

She could have gotten lost in the woman’s hair alone. Deep orange waves with more shadows and highlights than the best balayage Mel had ever seen. Green eyes, full lips, flawless skin… she wore a suit that definitely wasn’t off-the-rack, with an ass-hugging skirt and garter belt stockings. Mel’s mouth went dry when she saw the clips peek out of the dancer’s skirt. She wanted to look everywhere at the same time.

“Those are definitely plastic,” Jack muttered.

Mel clicked her tongue. “You know that’s not what plastic surgery means, right? Anyway, they’re not.”

“What? Come on. How can you even tell?”

“Not for nothing, I think I have more experience with boobs than you do.”

“Debatable.”

“Are you carrying around a set of your own?”

“Alright, alright. Touché.”

Mel’s eyes hadn’t left Poppy throughout this exchange. Piece after piece of the dancer’s outfit fell to the stage, revealing every inch of her firm, billowing, watermelon tits.

“I revise my previous assessment.”

Mel ignored him. As if sensing her unwavering gaze, Poppy’s eyes locked onto her as she neared the end of her routine. She crawled across the stage, her perfect rack dangling less than a foot away. This close, Mel could see how little makeup the woman wore. She slid bill after bill into Poppy’s waistband, uncaring as the fives turned into tens and then twenties.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” the dancer purred.

Mel croaked out a “Hi” like an adolescent boy.

“How would you like an encore? Maybe in a VIP room?”

Mel nodded, only then realizing she’d spent all the cash Jack gave her from the ATM. She fumbled in her purse as Poppy climbed off the stage, fishing out her platinum card.

She held it up. “Do you take cards, um, Poppy?”

Poppy beamed a flawless smile, offering her a hand up. She leaned into Mel, making her chest burn where skin touched fabric. “For you, it’s half price. And call me Peyton.”

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Kinktober prompt:
Clock

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 16 - Clock

Twenty-four Years Ago

A man stood at the edge of his parents’ sprawling farmyard, peering down a trail into the woods. He knew the trail got almost impassably overgrown a few hundred feet in, eventually leading to a muddy pond. The man pulled a flip phone from his pocket to check the time.

February 28th, 11:57 p.m.

Once, every four years, the trail led somewhere else. He’d never been there, and likely never would, but he was expecting a visitor. He strolled back and forth near the trail, letting his eyes drift across the outbuildings and fences bathed in moonlight. A rustling in the leaves made him turn around.

Her voice was like a gently running stream. “Daniel.”

She was like a vision from a forgotten faerie story. Deep red-gold curls framed her angular features like a halo, falling nearly to her knees. Green eyes flecked with gold seemed to glow in the shadowed wood. A constellation of freckles covered her smooth skin from her brow to the upper swell of her chest that peeked out from a flowing nightgown of white linen. Sorcha seemed more voluptuous every time he saw her.

“It’s Dan now,” he said, stepping close to brush his fingers against hers.

Sorcha leaned into him, her warm curves making his pulse quicken and his body respond within moments. But this time, something felt different. Apart from her fuller chest and longer hair, Sorcha didn’t look a day older than the first time she’d found him, twelve years ago. She was always as he remembered her, but thinking of the makeshift bed he’d set up with candles and flowers in the nearby hayloft, Dan suddenly felt every one of his thirty years.

“Four times,” Sorcha purred. “Has it really gone by so quickly?”

Dan’s body heated, lust and desire silencing his doubts. Sorcha’s glistening pink lips drew closer, and he tangled fingers in her hair as the space between their bodies vanished.

Dan woke to sunlight streaming through gaps in the barn siding, making motes of dust dance. With Sorcha’s perfect body still wrapped around him, Dan’s clarity came crashing back. He stroked her hair, trying to arrange his thoughts as she slowly stirred awake.

“Good morning.”

As always, his body responded to her voice. His mind clouded as she slid on top of him, pressing her bare breasts to his chest—had they gotten even larger since last night?

Dan shook himself back to lucidity. Sliding a cluster of orange locks over Sorcha’s ear, he said, “I have to tell you something.”

Sorcha’s lips parted into a pleased smile, but her eyes held a sadness that made Dan’s heart want to shatter. She ran a pale finger along his cheek. “No, you don’t.”

***

Present Day

A young woman stood at the edge of her grandparents’ farm. Her farm, technically, now. She clutched a small, worn scrapbook to her chest, muttering at her naiveté.

“You’re not a child, Esther. What are you doing out here?”

Esther checked her smartwatch.

February 28th, 11:59 p.m.

Her breath caught as flashes of white and orange resolved into an ethereal beauty stepping through the trees on feather-light feet.

“Holy shit, it’s real.”

Peering through the trees, the woman called, “Dan?”

In her limited dating experience, Esther had begun to identify as demisexual. She could recognize and appreciate a woman’s beauty aesthetically, but almost never felt physical attraction until much later in a relationship. As the flame-haired goddess spoke in a voice like wind chimes, however, Esther felt her entire body ignite with an aching need.

Esther started to shake her head, to explain that no, Dan was her father, her late father, but the strange woman’s eager expression fell as she drew closer. The grief on Sorcha’s face was such a mirror of her own that her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Sorcha paused a step away from Esther, arms spread and a question in her glimmering emeralds. Esther nodded, and the world fell away as she was enveloped in the woman’s arms.

“What are you called, dear one?”

“Esther.”

Sorcha stroked her back, murmuring like an immortal oak as Esther’s grief faded. She took a step back, still holding Esther at arm’s length.

“You are his…“

“Yes.”

“And he’s…”

Esther nodded, then held up her father’s scrapbook. “I found this in his things. I thought the stories were made up—he loves telling stories… Loved.”

Sorcha hugged her again. “Show me.”

They sat in the grass and looked through Dan’s scrapbook. A set of yellowed Polaroids with her father at eighteen. Printed film photos of Dan at twenty-two, a stubbly goatee on his chin. Another set at twenty-six, clean-shaven and short-haired. Then, finally, blurry flip-phone photos showing the beginnings of her father’s “dad bod,” his hair already starting to thin. In each set of photos, Sorcha looked the same. An ageless face that somehow looked both younger than Esther herself and had the gravitas one only gained over decades. Her red-gold curls grew longer, and her chest fuller, but without the changes to her father, Esther wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell that the photos spanned twelve years.

The boobs were the giveaway, Esther decided as her eyes darted to Sorcha’s straining nightdress. She met the strange woman’s eyes, and the intensity of her gaze made her thoughts go silent. She felt the full force of Sorcha’s undivided attention, like nothing else existed in the world. Whoever and whatever this woman was, her adoration made mortal love a pale echo in comparison—shadows on a cave wall.

“I have so many questions,” Esther said, her tongue thick and sluggish.

Sorcha leaned in, running a fingertip along the shell of her ear. “Do you?”

Esther nodded.

Sorcha’s hand shifted to cup her face. “Are you sure?”

Esther’s lips parted, her mouth finding Sorcha’s before the word could form.

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Kinktober prompt:
Appetizer

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 17 - Appetizer

Daisy had never thought of herself as rich. She wasn’t really. She had a comfortable career in a company of around fifty people, enough to pay all her bills and slowly add to her retirement fund. More importantly, it allowed her to support her favorite creators; people who wrote stories, people who made art, and women who shared their alluring bodies to a particular niche of fans.

But when she got an unexpected windfall, Daisy knew exactly what she wanted to do. The project had been her parents’ idea: buy a rundown house in her hometown, fix it up, give a little boost to her savings, and finally get out of renters’ hell. The flip had taken closer to six years than six months, but the chaotic housing market meant her half of the profits was tens of thousands more than she expected. The day the papers were signed and the checks cleared, Daisy bought something she thought she’d never be able to justify buying.

Of all the people Daisy supported, Claire was her favorite. She loved spicy stories and lewd art, and adored following the growth journey of gainers and women who simply had incredible bodies, but Claire was special. Daisy didn’t know how, but the pretty brunette could expand her breasts in real time. She’d assume it was some kind of filter or AI, but Claire always ate enough to make the growth plausible, biology be damned. The gift tier was only visible to Claire’s subscribers. For an amount of money that would have bought a functional used car five or six years ago, a fan could have a one-on-one date.

Claire (3:45 p.m.): Wow, thanks! I lowkey put that tier in as a joke, you’re the first person to actually do it 😅

Daisy (3:46 p.m.): It’s my pleasure, you’re my favorite creator.

Claire (3:48 p.m.): Aww, you’re so sweet 🥰

Daisy (3:49 p.m.): Where would you like to go?

Claire (3:51 p.m.): Nothing too fancy, I’m a quantity over quality kind of girlie

Daisy made a reservation at a chain restaurant. Fast food seemed too cheap for how much she’d already spent, but a nice place could end up costing more than the date itself. Daisy told her what she’d be wearing—a pink and blue sundress—but she was pretty sure she’d recognize Claire when she arrived.

She was correct.

Claire wore a dark skirt that swished around her knees and a Kelly green tank top that Daisy could have worn as a dress, even though they were about the same height. Daisy wasn’t sure how far the restaurant was from where Claire lived, but she was obviously well-known in this town. She drew plenty of stares and gaping mouths, but nobody fell out of their chairs. Some of the staff seemed to recognize her, and a few customers offered polite waves.

Daisy found herself slightly disappointed at the sight of Claire in the flesh. Her breasts were certainly bigger than any she’d seen in person, but they barely looked twice the size of her head, rather than the near-immobilizing beanbags Claire’s recent photos implied.

“A booth, huh?” Claire grinned. “You’re a brave girl.”

Daisy didn’t know what that meant. “Oh, would you prefer a table? I can ask if we can move.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Let me go undo this thing first—don’t want to break it.” Claire pointed at her impressive chest and shot Daisy a wink before wobbling to the restroom.

Claire walked back through the restaurant to a much noisier reaction. Gasps and murmurs filled the room, and more than one fork clattered to the floor. Her compression bra had reduced her apparent size by at least thirty percent, which explained Daisy’s initial disappointment. Claire settled into the booth across from her, resting her chest on the table, where it bulged over halfway toward her. She thought her eyes might pop out of her head.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

Claire laughed. “You paid for my ridiculous date tier, stare all you want. You can touch them, too, as long as you’re cool about it—this is sort of a family place.”

Daisy pressed one shaky hand to the front of Claire’s shirt, inches away from her water cup. “They’re so big…” she breathed.

Claire beamed. “Just wait.”

Daisy jerked her hand back into her lap as a server approached.

“What can we get started for you ladies?”

To Daisy, Claire asked, “Apps?”

“Order whatever you like.”

Claire’s grin showed too many teeth. She started rattling off a list of appetizers. Daisy had watched many of Claire’s eating streams, but hearing the woman name item after item right in front of her made her dizzy. She looked down at the menu to see if there was anything Claire wasn’t ordering. Only one item, the chips and salsa, and that was probably because she’d ordered guacamole and queso.

They made banal small talk until the apps arrived. Daisy had to keep up most of the conversation once Claire started eating. She ate with both hands, a plate on either side of her massive breasts. She held the dips under her chin to avoid spilling, but any crumbs or drips that might have fallen would have landed in her miles of cleavage, far from the stretched fabric of her shirt.

Every time the server came back to check on them, Claire asked for more food. Daisy lost track of how many times the same dishes arrived, lost in the surreal experience of witnessing this force of nature without a screen between them.

Claire ate and ate, and Daisy watched her breasts swell ever closer. The top of her menu disappeared, then the appetizer section, then the salads. They also rose higher, blocking Daisy’s view of Claire’s chin, her mouth, her nose.

What felt like hours later, Daisy sat pressed against the back of her seat, trying desperately to keep her face from mashing into Claire’s imposing breasts. She couldn’t see Claire’s head at all, but finally, finally, the sounds of chewing stopped, and she heard the pneumatic brunette sigh contentedly.

“That was amazing,” Daisy said. She gave the gigantic orbs a few experimental pats, feeling the twin mountains of food within. “Should we ask for the check?”

Claire laughed again, and Daisy pushed back in her bench again as those bloated behemoths quaked. “Those were just apps, silly.”

Daisy craned her neck to find Claire’s face, but saw nothing but shirt-clad whoppers. She did see Claire’s hand shoot up to wave their server over.

“I think we’re ready for the entrees now.”

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Kinktober prompt:
Dice

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 18 - Dice

Lily sat in a darkened room, feeling like an idiot. She listened to “Madame Joislin” praying or chanting or whatever it was. None of the words made any sense to Lily. What kind of witch kept a shop in the back of a strip mall? Who believed in witches at all in this day and age? And not just the creepy girls who hung out in front of this shop, with the occult books, skulls, and tarot decks, but someone who could do actual magic? Lily would have called it bullshit. A carnival sideshow at best and a predatory grift at worst.

But Lily had seen her coworker go from even flatter than her to E-cups over a weekend. She’d held them in her hands. The way it felt to squeeze over a handful of Kacey’s tits was something Lily would have to unpack later.

Madame Joislin’s chanting grew louder. The flickering candlelight made shadows dance across the etched lines of her face while she added marks to the chalk circle on an antique wooden table. Lines and dots, whorls and zig-zags, they were either arcane runes or random doddles, and if this magic even worked, Lily wasn’t convinced that any of this pagentry was necessary.

“The ritual is ready.”

“So… what now?”

The woman scooped up a handful of pieces from her junk drawer assortment of cliches—feathers, claws, dried bugs and frog legs—and showed them to Lily in her wrinkled palm.

“Are those… rocks?”

Madame Joislin closed her fist and held it out to Lily. She opened her palm to take them, thinking of the hand sanitizer in her purse. She held three pieces of something pale grey, shaped into rough cubes, heavier than she expected, and marked with small etches that had been inked in.

“These aren’t bones… are they?”

“You must cast them into the circle.”

“Me? Aren’t you the expert here?”

“I can only prepare the ritual. For the magicks to affect you, it must be your hand that casts.”

“I thought you were casting a spell. Now I’m just rolling some creepy dice?”

The woman nodded. “It will divine your fate.”

Lily was going to kill Kacey for this. She could have bought several nice padded bras for what she’d paid this grifter. “So, what, how big I get depends on what I roll with these actual bones?”

“Magick is a thing of… spirits. Of beings beyond our ken. They respond not to human logic or calculation. You must tempt them with chance.”

“So it’s a literal game. Great.”

Lily was tired of this whole vibe. She wanted to get it over with so she could check out that kebab place next door. Sighing, she tossed the bone chunks onto the table.

The dice thumped against the wooden surface far louder than Lily expected. They bounced slowly, rolling through the air. When they finally stopped, only one had landed inside the circle, but all three showed a face covered in tiny black marks.

Lily stared at the bones. “What does that m—hnnng”

Intense heat blasted her body. Like standing too close to an end-of-summer bonfire, but instead of pushing against her skin from the outside, the blaze came from deep in her core. Lily’s thighs clenched, her sex pulsing as beads of sweat slicked her skin. She let out a moan as her body tightened like the moment before release, her chest rising as if pulled upward by invisible hands.

Lily felt, rather than saw, her near nonexistent breasts grow. Swelling and filling like someone had turned on a spigot that gushed with far more pressure than they’d expected. The sensation built and rose until her release came, and Lily felt wetness run between her thighs.

Gulping air, she came back to reality. Her breasts were huge. She had breasts! Bigger than Kacey’s, they filled her view downward. Lily raised two trembling hands to grope her new body parts. The touch sent so much tingling pleasure through her that a fresh ache of need pulsed between her legs.

“H-holy shit…”

It worked. Fuck her, it worked. She owed Kacey dinner for this. Maybe more. If her own hands felt this good, what might her friend’s feel like?

Madame Joislin was speaking.

“The spirits truly have smiled on you, my child.”

Huh?

The old woman picked up a small instrument—like a backscratcher, or one of those tiny rakes for a desktop zen garden. She reached around the table to hook the two bone pieces that had escaped the chalk circle, drawing them in beside the first without touching them or letting the upright face change.

Lily’s eyes went wide. “That was just one—HAAA”

Her fingers clenched as her body went rigid, furnace-like heat building inside her yet again.

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Kinktober prompt:
Beef

Contains: Breast Expansion

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Kinktober 20 - Beef

Elsie and Bella had drifted apart after high school. Bella went away to a college two states over, while Elsie moved to a bigger town to continue her career in clothing retail. So whenever they were back in their hometown at the same time, they tried to get together, to meet up at their favorite hangout spot from back in the day.

Bella was pretty and petite with jet black hair. In high school, she’d worn it long, with heavy dark eye makeup, black lipstick, and all black outfits that leaned into the emo/goth aesthetic. Now in their mid-twenties, Bella wore a cute pixie cut and dusky pink skirt suit with subtle makeup more suited to an office.

Elsie was a high femme, a girly girl. Long blonde balayage waves, bright colors and pastels, she wore floral sundresses weeks before and after proper sundress weather. Almost nothing about Elsie had changed in the past seven years.

Sitting across from her old friend at Joe’s sports bar, Bella tried not to gape. Elsie had never been a twig—popular girls had called them the skinny one and the fat one, even when they’d both been under a hundred pounds—but she looked like she’d eaten her younger self. Her sky blue sundress with pink and purple flowers appeared painted on, the stretchy material clinging and emphasizing every dip and swell of her curves.

Most of Elsie’s weight gain had gone to her chest. Bella had a secret fascination with boobs, since her own had never developed past A-cup. Once, when Elsie’s parents were gone and they had gotten into her mother’s cheap wine stash, Elsie let Bella play with them. It was a memory she thought she’d fully repressed until she saw Elsie’s fat cleavage jiggling while she took a bite of her double bacon mofo burger.

Stirring her salad to spread the dressing around, Bella said, “You look great.”

Elsie scoffed. “You look great. I look like a cow.”

“A sexy cow.”

“You bitch,” Elsie laughed.

“At least you got those,” Bella said, pointing her fork at Elsie’s chest. “Everything I eat goes to my hips.”

Elsie straightened her back with a smug smile. Her dress tightened and strained across her boobs as they seemed to swell out of her neckline. Her eyes flashed in panic as she relaxed her posture.

“For real, though. I barely got this dress to close. It’s one of my favorites, but we don’t sell them anymore, so I can’t even get a new one in a bigger size.”

“Well, you could maybe cut back on the red meat,” Bella suggested.

“You’re probably right.”

***

The following year, Bella was thrilled to meet up with her old friend again. The fact that it gave her an excuse to be away from her family for an afternoon had nothing to do with it. They met at the park a few blocks from the restaurant, and when she saw Elsie walking toward the pavilion, Bella’s breath caught.

Whatever changes her friend had made to her diet, Elsie hadn’t lost any weight. Well, Bella couldn’t be sure; it was possible that Elsie’s hips and belly weren’t quite as full as they’d been a year ago. Bella remembered thinking last time that Elsie had gained most of her weight in her chest. Now, it was all in her chest. Elsie’s tits looked almost twice the size they’d been last year. If anything, they’d absorbed some of the fat from other parts of her body.

Bella ground her teeth, silently battling between furious jealousy and a burning need to bury her face in those monsters.

“What happened to you?”

A faint blush rose in Elsie’s cheeks. “I tried your advice, and it sort of worked.”

“My advice? What do you mean, ‘sort of?’”

“Well, all my skirts and jeans still fit…” Elsie patted her hips, looking down at the waist and feet she certainly couldn’t see past miles of cleavage.

“Instead, your girls just—“ Bella looked around the park nervously, dropping her voice to a whisper. “—freaking exploded?”

“Well, you said I should eat less beef.”

Bella recalled their last meetup, seeing Elsie mowing down a massive burger while complaining about her tight clothes. “I’m afraid to ask what you’ve been eating instead.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure I still got the vitamins or whatever comes from cows, so I switched to, like, yogurt and cheese and stuff.”

Bella had a mental image of her friend chugging a jug of whole milk and shoving cheese cubes into her mouth while her tits swelled bigger and bigger. Elsie had never been very bright.

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Kinktober prompt:
Pilot

Contains: Weight Gain

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Kinktober 21 - Pilot

Natalie Johnson, alias Pink Talon, one of the five members of Talon Squad and Pink Falcon’s pilot, stood in a high-rise lobby waiting for the elevator. Checking her reflection in a nearby mirror, she tugged on the lapels of her raspberry blazer and peach blouse. Wearing inserts in her bras was pure vanity, but it was the only way Natalie could think of to get the Squad’s fans to stop comparing her to her predecessor. It didn’t work.

It was even more absurd for Natalie to double-pack her bra before going to see the former Pink Talon. Susan knew exactly how much of Natalie’s figure was genuine and was unlikely to be impressed by the facade. Natalie made some ineffectual adjustments to her wavy blonde curls, willing back the blush that threatened to make her cheeks match her outfit.

Even in the express elevator, the long ride to the penthouse level gave Natalie even more time to sweat. She walked with a slight limp toward Susan’s door and pressed the bell.

The door only opened a few inches until it caught on its chain. Even in minimal makeup and clearly in need of a salon visit, Susan looked gorgeous as ever.

“What do you want?” Susan asked, her tone more curious than annoyed.

“I’m sorry to just drop by like this, but the Squad needs your help.” Through the cracked door, Natalie saw Susan’s cleavage filling her plum tank top to its limit. Not only had her predecessor retired more busty than Natalie would ever be, she’d somehow grown even bustier in the past five years. The Universe was cruel.

“I’m retired. Find someone else.”

Natalie shoved the toe of one orchid boot into the opening before Susan could slam the door. “Madame Savant is planning something big, and we don’t have time to train another pilot.”

Susan muttered more protests that Natalie couldn’t parse.

“Please, just open the door.”

The older woman sighed, and Natalie withdrew her foot. When the door swung open, Natalie struggled not to gasp. She understood now how Susan’s tit’s had gotten bigger.

The former Pink Talon was nearly twice the woman she’d once been. Natalie wondered if Susan had spent every moment of her retirement stuffing her face. Desperately, she pushed down any unkind comments or reactions. “Please, Susan…”

Susan crossed heavy arms under her chest, lifting her breasts from where they’d been resting on her round belly. “You look fine. Why can’t you do it?”

“I tore my ACL. Wilfred won’t let me pilot the Falcon until it’s fully healed.”

“Come on, Nat. Look at me.”

Natalie put a hand on Susan’s shoulder, surprised at how soft it felt. Was the rest of her body that soft? “Everything I know I learned from you. Do you really want to make Talon Prime fight with only one arm?”

Susan sighed again, making her cleavage do interesting things. “Fine, let’s go.”

***

“Come on, suck it in!”

“I am sucking it in!”

Natalie strained against the zipper of the amaranth and magenta flight suit, trying to make the ends close over Susan’s lower back. It had taken forty minutes to get the suit over the retired pilot’s hips and prominent behind, and Natalie had to repeatedly adjust her posture to keep that alluring behind from brushing against her. Susan gasped and trembled, and Natalie worked the zipper a few inches higher.

The upper back was going to be the real challenge. The space-age material had a lot of stretch and give, but it was not designed to hold so much pilot. While it clung to Natalie like a second skin, it made Susan look like an overstuffed sausage, a near-translucent casing stretched over far too much meat.

“This isn’t going to work,” Susan gasped. “I can’t suck these in…”

“You can do it, just breathe out as much as you can!”

Natalie waited for Susan’s exhale and yanked the zipper the rest of the way. Flashing lights and alarms decorated the suit as it tried to contain the bulk of its inhabitant and the air in her lungs.

An old man in a white lab coat tottered into the secret base, his bespectacled eyes bulging almost as much as Susan’s flight suit.

“Hi, Wilfred…” Susan wheezed.

“Susan’s going to… fill in… for me,” Natalie said, shuffling nervously away from her predecessor as if the suit might rupture at any moment.

Wilfred cleared his throat. “Very well. I’ll see about, erm, having the arms removed from the Falcon’s flight seat.”

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